Then and Now
by The One Of Us To Survive
Summary: After April's death, Roger finds comfort in flirting with Mark. After Mimi's death, it's more than flirtation. Written from a prompt by some of my castmates, set in two time periods. Rated for language but also mostly smut.
1. Then

_Then_

Mark never liked any of his friends to be sad, but then again, would anyone? He just never imagined that it would be _this _that happened. Why did it have to be April who died? Mark had never liked the girl much- he wasn't that fond of any of the girls his roommate brought home, but for Roger's sake, he almost hoped that April would be around for a while. She made him so happy, and that was all Mark really wanted, really. If Roger was happy, then so was Mark.

It's not like Mark wasn't jealous. It might not have been a huge deal if he hadn't known that Maureen was cheating on him. But when she started not coming back to the loft until late, or sometimes the next morning, it was becoming obvious even to him. Though it was Roger who pointed it out ("You do know that Maureen's been sleeping with someone else, right?").

The thing about Roger though, Mark had found, was that when he was pining away from someone, he tended to flirt with anyone else he came in contact with. Sometimes that was the random people on the street, sometimes that was Collins, but usually it was him, Mark. And Mark never complained, because it was just Roger's way of coping. But sometimes Mark wondered if the flirting had any reality in it, or if it was all mindless.

This time, with April, it was different. Roger became clingy, following Mark around the loft, refusing to leave his side. When Mark went out, Roger moped around- he would come back to find his roommate sitting in the exact same position he was when he left, perched on the table, guitar in hand but never played, or silently stirring a cup of tea while staring at the door wistfully.

It wasn't like Roger, and Mark was slightly nervous. He had never seen Roger quite this upset before, and he wasn't sure what he could do to help. Mark tried to just brush Roger off, laughing as if he couldn't sense the longing in his voice. But he could. Maybe Roger wanted companionship, or maybe he just missed fucking his girlfriend. It didn't really make a difference in the long run.

And then one day everything changed. It came out of the blue, neither of them were expecting it. One minute they were sitting next to each other eating breakfast, and the next, Roger leaned over and pressed his lips to Mark's. Taken aback, Mark jumped, and Roger, startled by Mark's sudden movement, turned abruptly away, one of his hands resting on the tabletop, and the other holding his head.

"Sorry," he mumbled. "I just thought you would-" Mark placed his hand over Roger's and the man turned to look at him.

"What about April, Rog?" Mark asked, concern in his voice.

"She's gone," Roger replied hoarsely. "I need… something… someone… I need you, Mark."

"Oh my god," Mark muttered, a blush creeping into his cheeks. "You've got to be kidding me." But he squeezed Roger's hand tighter and gave him a quick kiss on the forehead. "I'm here if you need me Roger," he whispered.

Then Roger started shaking, and it wasn't until Mark felt something wet on his sleeve that he realized Roger was actually crying. "Shh, Roger, it's going to be okay," he said, awkwardly patting his friend's back. he had no clue what to do in these situations, but while Roger was content to rest his head on Mark's shoulder, Mark was content to be there with him.


	2. Now

_Now_

In all the years Mark had known Roger, he never thought his friend would have quite the bad luck he did. It had been bad enough, Roger losing April. But when Mimi came into their loft that one cold Christmas Eve, it seemed like finally everything might be alright. Like maybe Roger would finally be happy. He was wrong in thinking such a thing. Mimi had almost died. In fact, she _had _died, and only be a miracle did she come back. But even that didn't last forever.

Mimi did die, that was always inevitable, though no amount of anticipation could prepare Roger for the trauma it put him through. He was in denial for weeks before he even accepted the fact that the girl he loved was gone. It was April all over again, only a hundred times worse. And all Mark could do was sit back and attempt to be a friend to Roger, because what else was he supposed to do?

They didn't speak of what went on between them on that cold winter night, and the few nights that followed before they both realized what they were doing was stupid. Roger was using Mark as a way to escape his pain, and Mark was using Roger to get back at Maureen for her obvious cheating. Not that they hadn't enjoyed it, but it meant nothing, not really. They had been what the other needed at the time, and that was good, but everything had to end.

Something was different this time, though. Mark had hoped that perhaps Roger's feelings for him would return, because his sure as hell hadn't left. Was their… whatever you wanted to call it wrong? Sure. But that had no impact on how strongly Mark felt about his roommate, and more than anything, he was curious to see if Roger felt the same.

He almost missed those days when Roger would come home in the evening and collapse onto the couch, burying his head in Mark's sweater, because it meant Mark could kiss him comfortingly, and they could fall asleep together without having to worry about anything.

"Fuck, Mark," Roger said finally, after days of neither one saying a word to the other. "Are you ignoring me or is there something I don't know about here?" Mark had been walking on eggshells since Mimi died. he had no idea how to act around Roger; his roommate had been acting so strange- mopey and silent one day, talkative the next, but generally detached from everything.

"Do you want me to apologize?" Mark snapped, turning on his heel to face the other man. "Because I have no idea what I did wrong, so perhaps you could enlighten me-" He stopped as he got a good look at Roger for the first time in about a week. He looked terrible; sweatpants that looked like they should've gone to the laundry days ago, a sweater that looked-was that _Mark's_?- and the bags under his eyes were painfully obvious. Instinctively, Mark reached out to touch Roger's arm gently.

"Look, Rog, I'm sorry. I just don't know how to act around you anymore. It's like walking on eggshells here." Roger shook his head angrily.

"Don't touch me!" he said, shoving Mark backwards. The shorter man stumbled backwards a step, blinking in surprise at the anger in Roger's eyes. "I don't need your goddamn sympathy, Cohen." Mark found himself backing up involuntarily as Roger stared him down, not aware of it until he felt the cold wood of the loft wall pressed against his back.

"Roger, I-"

"Shut up! You walk around here like you're so special, not paying any attention to me, only acknowledging I'm here when you have the time to talk to your best _goddamn _friend-" Mark raised his hand slightly, trying to interrupt, but Roger grabbed his arm and pinned it back to the wall. "No. You say you have no idea how to act around me, but maybe if you would get off your high horse long enough to pay even a second's worth of attention to me, you might have a better idea."

"Roger, I don't understand," Mark said, halfheartedly trying to pull away from his friend's iron grip.

"Then you're a fucking idiot," Roger said, and leaned in closer. "Just kiss me. I know you want to so don't deny it-" and before Mark could choke out a reply, Roger's lips crashed into his.

It was different from before. They had kissed, once or twice, in the months after April's death, but this was different. This time the kiss was heated; Roger seemed almost desperate- and it was the first time he had initiated it, rather than Mark. Which was a surprise to both of them. When Roger finally pulled away, gasping for breath, Mark stared at his face, which was probably no more flushed than his was, and his mussed hair.

"Come on, Marky. Don't tell me you didn't like that."

"Don't call me that," Mark muttered, and stared at the floor, face bright red. Roger only laughed, and tilted Mark's chin up.

"Look at me. Look me in the eyes and tell me you want me to kiss you again." Mark rolled his eyes, and in reply Roger pressed himself against the shorter man, tugging on Mark's shirt to pull him closer.

Mark gasped slightly. It was almost inaudible, but Roger heard, and he smirked. "Oh my god, Roger, don't do-" but he was cut off by another rough kiss.

Not breaking the kiss, Roger tugged on Mark's scarf, and Mark fisted his hands in Roger's sweater, a small sound escaping his lips. Roger pulled away and Mark whimpered in protest. Shaking his head, Roger pulled on the scarf again. "Take this somewhere else?" he asked with a grin, and Mark could only nod.

They stumbled into Roger's room, and Mark was not-so-gently pulled onto the bed by the ends of his scarf. Roger captured Mark's mouth in his as he shoved him onto his back. Mark hardly noticed as Roger unwound the scarf from his neck until it was wrapped around his wrists and tied to the bedposts. "Roger, what-" he managed to mumble, but broke off as the taller man knelt over him, leaving a small trail of kisses down his jawline and onto his neck. "Shit, Roger-"

Roger looked up at Mark innocently. "Yes, Marky?" He pressed the tip of his nose to Mark's and smiled a sweet but teasing smile. His eyes drifted to the thick black glasses that were perched slightly askew on bridge of Mark's nose. "These might… get in the way," he said faintly. Roger shifted his hips so he was pressing harder against Mark, who let out a low hiss.

"Don't you dare." Roger only smiled and pulled the glasses off in one motion. "Let me put these somewhere safer." He climbed off of Mark, and walked slowly across the room. Mark squirmed slightly at the loss of contact.

Roger took his time coming back to the bed, and Mark growled in protest. He strained slightly against the scarf- _his own scarf_- but Roger had tied it tightly. No surprise that he had such clever fingers- Roger played guitar after all, of course he could tie good knots, and he wondered briefly what else Roger could do with his fingers.

"Marky, come on now, don't squirm so. You're making this so much more difficult." Mark shook his head in disbelief. Roger's voice was practically a _purr, _for god's sake. He pulled against the tight knots once more before sagging back against the bed with a sigh. Roger sat down on the bed beside him, eyeing Mark critically but not making any attempt to touch him at all.

"Roger, stop being so unfair," he whined. He squirmed again, wishing that he hadn't worn the tight pants Maureen had given him for Christmas. There was no doubt that Roger could see his growing erection- yep, there was the little goddamn _smirk _that was so familiar. Familiar because that was the look Roger used to give his girlfriends before he dragged them off into the bedroom. Except they were already there, and Mark was fucking _tied to the bed by his own scarf. _

And before he could draw breath to complain again, Roger had moved to straddle him once more, still smirking. Mark made an attempt to glare at him, which was somewhat ruined as Roger shifted again, pushing his hips down into Mark's. The glare was cut off by a high pitched whine he hadn't known he was capable of making. "Shit, Roger-"  
Before he could finish saying anything, Roger effectively shut him up by claiming his mouth again, rutting into him at the same time. He laughed, feeling more than hearing Mark's intake of breath. Roger pulled away, trailing kisses down onto his neck. Mark felt him smirk against his skin a moment before Roger bit him sharply, pulling a noise somewhere between a whine and a moan from Mark.

Roger laughed, trailing fingers down Mark's ribs, moving to his collar bone to bite him again. "Roger, fuck, what are you-" He cut himself off this time, biting his lower lip to hold in a moan; Roger was biting the small place where his neck met his shoulder.  
"Can't hear you," Roger said lightly. His hands had reached the edges of Mark's hipbones and Mark had the sudden feeling he was about to find out exactly what Roger's fingers could do. "Try saying that again, a bit louder." He bit the same place on Mark's shoulder, over the last bite mark.

It hurt, and Mark wasn't quite sure if the sound he made was one of pain or pleasure. Roger kissed the bitten spot. "Much better." His hands were slowly moving inwards on Mark's hipbones as he spoke, pressed between their two bodies. Rather than touching him, Roger looked at Mark, slowly raising his eyebrows. "Beg."

Mark whimpered, but said nothing-he was trying to hold on to what little pride he had left (which wasn't a lot), but he knew he wasn't going to be able to hold out much longer. "I- fuck, Roger, just- oh my god, please!" Roger chuckled, moving his hands to just above the top rim of Mark's jeans. "Tell me. Tell me exactly what you want me to do." Mark mumbled something inaudible. "What? I didn't catch that."

"Oh god, Roger, you're such a pain in the ass, cut it out you know exactly what I want just stop-"

"Stop? Well if you say so…" Roger raised his hands defensively, smirking.

"_SHIT. _Roger just fuck me already what more do you want?" Mark clenched his fists, blushing profusely.

"You're so cute," Roger said, his hand going back to Mark's jeans. He aimlessly played with the button, undoing the jeans at a painfully slow pace. "Did Maureen pick these out? She has good taste." Mark opened his mouth to answer and was cut off by Roger stealing another kiss.

"And you're a tease," Mark grumbled. "I hate you so- AH, FUCK, ROGER!" he screeched as the other man played with the fabric of his jeans.

"Oops," Roger said innocently. "My fingers may have… _slipped._"

"Fuck you," Mark mumbled, his breath coming fast as Roger finally undid the zipper.  
"Not tonight, Mark."

He kept his mouth shut, swallowing the sounds that were trying to escape him while Roger pushed the jeans down his thighs, yanking them down fast. Roger's smirk was back, his eyes darker than Mark had ever seen them.

"Tonight," he said, his voice a low purr that made the hair on the back of Mark's neck stand up. "It's going to be you." Mark whimpered. Roger leaned down to kiss him again; as he pulled back he pushed his finger into Mark's mouth. Mark, understanding what he was supposed to do, licked and sucked at the finger.

As he sucked, Roger worked his boxers down with his right hand, teasing Mark. When the underwear had fallen around his knees, alongside the jeans, Roger pulled his finger from Mark's mouth. Right hand holding Mark's hip steady, he pressed the finger against Mark's entrance, drawing circles around it but not entering him. Mark moaned, his face flushing even redder.

"R-Roger, _please_, just…"

Roger stole another kiss, forcing his tongue into Mark's mouth. Mark's back arched off the bed as his finger did the same, pushing inside him and oh god it had been so long since he'd been fucked and this hurt, Roger's finger was burning inside him, but somehow it wasn't enough, wasn't enough at all, and he whimpered. "What was that?" Roger asked. "Tell me what you need."

"_More_," Mark gasped, pulling involuntarily on the scarf keeping him tied. The knots held, of course they held. Roger slipped another finger in alongside the first and was pushing them both in _further_. Mark nearly screamed as Roger found his prostate, pushing up against it with both callused fingers.

"Hm, you like that?" Roger scissored his fingers inside him and Mark could only whimper, breathing so hard he thought his heart could burst. "Didn't hear you. Louder." His fingers _twisted_ and Mark fought against the scarf again, desperate to move, to touch Roger, to do anything, but he couldn't. Roger slipped a third finger in, fucking him faster now and Mark couldn't stop the sounds he was making.

"What do you want, tell me," Roger said, curling his fingers inside Mark and eliciting a loud cry of "_FUCK!_" He smirked. "More specific." Mark was panting, trying to buck his hips up but held down by Roger's firm hand. He seemed to be having trouble forming words. "You won't get anything unless you ask for it," Roger warned.

"Need you- now-" The usually eloquent film maker had been reduced to single syllables. Roger couldn't help but feel a bit proud of himself. He kissed Mark again before slowly pulling his fingers out. Mark whined at the loss of contact, but Roger was already out of his sweatpants by the time Mark could draw breath to complain. He hadn't been wearing underwear. When Roger leaned down to kiss Mark again he ground his hips down, feeling Mark moan against him.

"_Fuck_, Roger, please," Mark breathed. Roger pulled away from the kiss and smiled an evil smile. He pulled back so they weren't touching any longer, and to Mark's horror, stood up off the bed. "Roger…?" Mark mumbled. Roger took hold of the jeans still around Mark's lower legs and yanked them roughly off, depositing them on the floor. The underwear quickly followed. Roger paused another second to snatch the pillow from the floor where it had fallen when he had first pushed Mark down onto the bed. He pushed it under Mark's hips, keeping them off the bed. Roger climbed back onto the bed, hooking one of Mark's legs around his hip. He smiled that evil smile again and slowly, too slowly, entered him. He rolled his hips slowly, knowing full well he was killing Mark with this.

"Roger, please-"

"Please _what_?"

"Faster, I-" Mark gasped as Roger's pace suddenly picked up so that he was practically slamming Mark into the bed. "Oh _God_, Roger-" It still wasn't enough for Mark; he thought he might never get enough of Roger, and the sound coming out of his mouth was somewhere between a moan and a scream, loud enough that he was sure the entire building knew.

"H-harder," Mark begged, trying to take more of Roger in, even though his hands were tied, even though Roger was holding him down to keep him still. Roger made a breathy sound; his grip on Mark's hip tightening to the point that Mark was sure he'd have bruises. Mark moaned loud and low, and in response Roger changed his angle, his thrusts hitting even deeper somehow, hitting his prostate with almost every thrust. The bed creaked under their combined weight. Knowing he couldn't last much longer, Roger bit at the junction of Mark's shoulder and neck again in a desperate effort to make him climax.

The sound Mark made bordered on a screech. "OhgodRoger, Roger, I'm going to-" Roger hit his prostate again, both of them breathing hard.

"Go on," Roger said, his thrusts never slowing down. "Come for me."

And that was all it took. Mark screamed, arching up into Roger, his arms pulling at the scarf as he came, his toes curling and his vision going white. Roger's rhythm became erratic as he fucked Mark through the other man's orgasm, and it took barely seconds after that for him to come.

"_Mark_," he gasped, his grip tightening, nails digging into the soft skin of Mark's hip. Roger was barely aware of the sounds he was making, aware of nothing but Mark around him and below him and utterly _his_ for that moment, even if he would never be his again.

Roger slowly released his grip. He pulled out, reaching up to untie the knotted scarf from the bed posts and Mark's wrists. Red marks were left behind from where the filmmaker had fought against the binding. Roger kissed each of his wrists in turn, and pressed a soft, chaste kiss to his lips before curling beside him on the small single bed.

Mark's breathing was still heavy, and he tucked his head into Roger's chest, sighing. His eyes were squeezed shut, and his hand fumbled for Roger's. Mark yawned, and Roger smiled, planting a kiss on the other man's forehead. Roger's breathing slowed and his own eyes fluttered shut.

"Roger." Mark's voice was a soft whisper, his speech slurred by his pure exhaustion. "Iloveyou, Rog."

"Oh lord," Roger said, laughing slightly, but he tightened his grip on Mark's hand. Both said nothing for a few minutes, and only after a while, when Roger was certain the other man had fallen asleep, did he reply. "Love you too, Mark."

Mark, who hadn't quite fallen asleep, smiled once again and curled up tighter against Roger. He shivered slightly, and opened his eyes, blinking. "M'cold, Roger." Rolling his eyes, Roger disentangled himself from Mark, and sat up, looking around the dark room for the blanket. He stood up slowly, and a small whine of protest escaped Mark's lips.

As Roger searched around the foot of the bed for the abandoned blanket, Mark rolled over, stretching his sore limbs. He fell back against the mattress. "You're taking up the entire bed, Cohen. Move over." Mark blinked at Roger, who was standing there holding a blanket.

"Nope," he said with a small laugh. Roger sighed and sat down, trying to shove Mark to the side.

"Move your ass." When Mark didn't move, Roger grumbled and slipped in next to the shorter man, wrapping his arms around him and pulling the blanket over them. "Go to sleep."

"You're not gonna leave are you Roger?" Mark asked in concern.

"'Course not. I won't ever leave."

Mark nodded. "Night, Rog."

"Night, Marky."

"Don't call me that." Roger only smiled and pulled Mark closer.


End file.
